These Things We've Seen
by Ink Spotz
Summary: John Watson is being treated for depression by seeing a therapist. Mary Morstan is trying to overcome her haunting past as an assassin by seeing the same therapist. The two meet one day, and slowly help each other heal and get over the things they've seen. (Back story of how John and Mary met).


Chapter 1

John sat outside the therapist office, waiting his turn. All he could think about for the last fifteen minutes was the fall. It kept flashing by his eyes. Sherlock standing on the edge of the roof of St. Bart's, his arms spread wide, then dropping, falling like a rock into the ocean of uncertainty below. Tears sprung to John's eyes and threatened to fall, but John didn't let them. He couldn't he had to remain strong, no matter what.

To try to distract himself from the memories that plagued him, that he would have to relive soon for the therapist anyway, John started to scan the few people that were in the waiting room with him. Besides himself, there were only two other people in the waiting room. They both happened to be females too. One female had brown hair that fell a little past her shoulders. She had her knees tucked up under her chin, staring at the wall with eyes the size of marbles. John deduced that she must be suffering from something along the same lines as himself. She must have gone through a terrible ordeal that she couldn't seem to shake.

The other woman, however, seemed much more composed. This intrigued John. She sat up straight in her chair, her blond hair tied back into a bun. Her eyes were also staring straight ahead like the other woman's, but she seemed much more alert. John shifted in his seat, wondering why she was here. Obviously she wasn't as traumatized as the other woman was, but she obviously must have seen or done something to make herself come here.

"John Watson."

John stood up when his name was called. He found that his eyes were still fixated on the woman. He was probably just intrigued by her because he was bored. He was starting to have shades of Sherlock appear in him.

Sherlock.

Sagging at the thought of his name, John walked into the therapists office for his session.

"How are we doing today?" asked the therapist as John shut the door, walking over to have a seat.

"Fine. No better than the last time you asked."

The therapist took a seat in her respective chair, crossing her legs and placing a notepad on her leg, immediately beginning to write.

"And how are you feeling about Sherlock today?"

"No better than the last time you asked," he repeated. "I still miss him. He was my best friend. It isn't something I'll get over in a short span of time."

"John, it's been almost a year now," said the therapist slowly.

"Wounds take time to heal," shrugged John, turning to look out the window, which happened to be splattered with the rain coming down from the sky.

The therapist sighed, looking down at her notepad, flipping through her notes.

"Yes John, but you have a history of PTSD. My concern is that your friend's suicide will cause this to start up again."

John focused on the rain for a moment before turning his gaze back to the therapist.

"I'm fine. I'll be fine."

"John, I'm worried about you..."

"I'm fine!" restated John with a slightly acidic tone. "I wish you would stop asking me! I was a soldier once for goodness sake!"

She sighed, jotting a few sentences down.

"I think that maybe we should quit early today. I don't want to push you. You seem more on edge today."

She was right. He had just snapped in her office. He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, nodding.

"Yes, I think you're right. I'm sorry."

She gave him a small, compassionate smile.

"It's alright. Everyone has bad days, John. Go get some rest."

He nodded again, opening his eyes and standing up. Before he could do anything else that he regretted, he left the office and walked back into the waiting room.

The two women were sitting there, but this time, John didn't pay either of them any attention. Instead, he walked toward the coffee machine along the back wall. He proceeded to pour himself a cup of the cheap coffee. As he did, the blond woman that had interested him before walked over and stood beside him.

"Tough session?" she asked.

"Hmm?" asked John, surprised that she was talking to him.

"It's the only excuse for coming to get a cup of the coffee they serve here. Unless you fancy watery coffee."

John turned to her and saw a small smile decorating her face. He smiled slightly, placing the cup down before he could even put it to his lips once.

"No. Watery coffee is disgusting."

"Well, I'm glad to know I'm not the only sane one here." She nodded her head toward the woman who still stared off into space. "She's the only one that isn't."

John chuckled slightly. Talking to her just made him more interested in her. He wanted to learn more about this woman. He didn't want this to be the last time he saw her.

"I tend to get my coffee down the street at that cafe..."

"Oh, you mean that one a block from here?"

He nodded.

"Yep. That's the place."

She looked at him, her smile widening slightly.

"You don't even know my name, and you're already asking me out by the sounds of it. Or are you always this friendly to people you meet in a therapist's office?"

He smiled a bit wider himself, feeling nervous all of a sudden. Every date that he had ever gone on always seemed to end in failure. He was feeling a bit self-conscious, especially now that he was dealing with the trauma of Sherlock's death. But maybe this would help him heal.

"Well yes, I have to admit that I am asking you out."

A blush tinted his cheeks as he stuck out his hand to her.

"My name is John by the way. John Watson."

He was hoping that she wouldn't ask him about his partnership with Sherlock Holmes. Luckily, she didn't.

"My name is Mary. Mary Morstan."

The young woman reached out and shook John's hand.

"I think I'll take you up on that offer for coffee. Meet you in an hour? After my session?"

He nodded, blushing a bit harder.

"I'll meet you there, Mary."

She gave him a pearly white smile, turning to enter the therapist's office as her name was called. He repeated her name in his head, long after she had entered the office. Mary Morstan. She was remarkable. She made his heart flutter and he barely knew her, but he was determined to get to know her. Maybe she was the cure that he had been waiting for.

* * *

**AN: If you would like to see this story continue, please leave a review to let me know what you think. Thank you. :) **


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